Addams-Potter
by TheClowningPrince
Summary: A little one-shot of how the Battle of Hogwarts might have turned out had Harry met the Addams Family and Wednesday's musings of Harry. HarryxWednesday. HPxWA. Dark!Harry. Powerful!Harry! Takes place four years after Addams Family Values. Image is from quotecatalog.


**This is something that just kinda popped into my head one day and I just **_**knew**_** I had to write it. I absolutely love the Addams Family, and Wednesday Addams was always one of my favorite Addams. I'd seen a few Wednesday/Harry fics on this site, but most were incomplete or absolute train wrecks, so I figured I'd give it a shot.**

**Also, a little trivia I found about Wednesday, (aka, Christina Ricci) she was 11 in the Addams Family, and 13 in the sequel. This worked perfectly for this pairing as Wednesday and Harry would both be 17 during the Battle for Hogwarts in 1997. **

**I hope you like it!**

**Enjoy!**

**~Addams-Potter~**

"So… this is Hogwarts?" Wednesday cast her dark, stoic gaze across the aged stonework, the dark towers, the crumbling bridge. The corners of her lips curled into a cold smile. "Interesting."

The man at her side snorted quietly, patting her hand in the crook of his elbow.

"One way to look at it, love."

"It's no Addams Manor, but mother and father would no doubt enjoy it," she paused to consider this. "Although, it would need an Addams' touch."

"Sadly, it's being used as a school, my dear."

"A shame," Wednesday sighed flatly. "Harry, you promised me a castle. Halberds, dungeons and chains, iron maidens - the works."

"And you shall have it, my love," the man - Harry James Potter - pulled Wednesday close and kissed her gently on her ruby lips. His nimble fingers caressed her chin as they pulled away, and glittering-black gazed deeply into emerald-green. "Potter Castle is no Hogwarts, but I believe it will please you."

Wednesday's lips tugged ever upwards in a small, loving - slightly maniacal - smile.

"As long as I am with you any rotten, infested, damp hovel will do, _mon cher_."

Harry grinned lovingly, his other hand moving to caress the small of her back and pulling her flush against himself. He leaned into to capture her lips once more, only to stop at a sound like loud rapping upon glass. The lovers turned their heads to the source, expressions entirely apathetic. They stood within a translucent dome that had surrounded Hogwarts and its grounds, and a barrage of multi-colored lights pounded upon the outside of the dome relentlessly.

"Hmm, I see he's arrived," Harry casually observed. He turned to Wednesday and stroked her cheek lovingly. "Will you excuse me, my love? I must bring death unto these… _dark pretenders_."

Wednesday reached up to cradle his face in her small, cold hands, her thumbs gently tracing his cheekbones. She grinned when Harry shivered, a thrill running down her spine. Wednesday cherished how she could bring Harry to his knees with just her touch. It was… _intoxicating_.

"Go, _mon amour_. Show them what it means to truly feast upon death," her ruby lips ghosted against his. "And don't forget to save a few for me."

Harry grinned, a maniacal, crazed glint in his eyes that drove Wednesday mad with desire.

"How could I?" He lovingly caressed her cheek with the back of his hand before stepping away. He flicked his wrist and a wand released from the depths of his sleeve and into his waiting hand. Twelve and a quarter inches, ebony wood, inlaid with ruins filled with silver. A dual core of basilisk heartstring and a powdered chimera's claw. A flick of his other hand released a twelve-inch-long, thin dagger. Its blade silver and razor-sharp. "How do I look?"

Wednesday ran a sharp eye over her love. Harry had chosen a tailored, black suit with silver pinstriping. His vest was dyed blood-red and made of dragonhide. She knew a number of knives lined the inside and outside of the vest. Polished, black, dragonhide boots for both function and fashion. He'd forgone the tie and his suit jacket lay draped across her shoulders; the sleeves of his shirt rolled to his elbows. Black hair combed back into a short ponytail, a neatly trimmed goatee, emerald eyes free of the old frames he used to wear.

This she observed with equal parts indifference and interest. What drew her attention was the crazed glint in his eyes and the dangerous smirk on his lips. As attractive as he was, it was his bloodlust that sparked a fire in Wednesday's gut.

"Disturbing," she replied with a seductive lilt in her voice. Harry grinned and bowed grandly.

"_Je te verrai bientôt, mon amour._"**(1)**

With a small twist and a sharp crack, Wednesday watched her love disappear. She turned to watch the coming battle from her spot atop Hogwarts' Astronomy Tower. The dark woman thought of all the blood that would be spilled this night. The false practitioners of the dark arts that would fall. All of them at the hands of her love - her Harry. The thought alone had her grinning darkly and filled her with desire.

"Mother and father will be so disappointed to have missed this."

**~Addams-Potter~**

Lord Voldemort, the self-proclaimed greatest Dark Wizard in history grinned evilly. Only moments ago he had cast the spell that toppled the wards of Hogwarts. Now his forces flocked in droves to take the school, moving en masse towards the grand bridge that served as the only path to the ancient school of magic. Nagini, his familiar and horcrux, slithered around his neck. Thin, bone-white fingers caressed her scales.

"Soon, my pet," his voice was sibilant and cold. "Soon I shall achieve what I set out to do all those years ago."

Voldemort's attention was diverted from the grandness of Hogwarts when he realized his forces had ceased their charge. His confusion mounted, seeing the front lines had frozen abruptly, the rear-guard stumbling into those before them. That confusion shifted quickly to anger as he watched his front-line forces start to fall. Flashes of light and screams and chilling laughter reached his senses. Someone was attacking his army.

A cold grin graced his thin lips. Whoever they were, they were a fool.

His army had numbers. Hundreds of wizards and witches. Dozens of dark creatures. Several giants. This foolish assailant would be overcome quickly and fall just as swiftly. Voldemort resigned himself to watch as this brave fool fought, relishing to see them be destroyed.

Those hopes were dashed and burned away in a wave of black fire that consumed nearly a third of his army in one swoop. Even at the great distance he stood from his army, the dark lord could almost taste the powerful, dark magic of the black fire. A shiver of unwarranted fear ran down his spine. Such power. Such ferocity. Only two wizards he knew of could wield such power. One was himself, the other was dead by his hand.

The black fire had swallowed its victims swiftly, reducing them to ash in the time it took to blink. Magic and life snuffed out like a candle. And, even as the dark wave of demonic fire abated, more spell fire followed. Several curses he recognized from the hue of the spell, but even more were a mystery to him, as extensive as his spell repertoire was.

On an on the fool - a dark figure with green, glowing eyes - fought, slaughtering and slaying his army without mercy or remorse and _laughing_ all the while. Organ-liquifying curses, organ-_rupturing_ curses, bone-breakers, piercing hexes, jelly-leg jinxes, cutting curses, _tickling charms_! No matter the spell cast, more and more of his forces fell to the figure.

Voldemort felt a brief respite when he heard the giants arrive. The mountainous beings thundered and roared, plowing through those in his army that were too slow to move out of the way, clubs raised to kill this puny being. As said, the respite was brief.

Even from a distance, Voldemort was sure he saw the figure pause to stare at the charging giants and _grin_. The figure then crouched and leapt to an impossible height, landing squarely upon the lead giant's shoulder. There was a flash of moonlight glinting on silver, then a fountain of blood and a gargled scream. The giant dropped its club - unintentionally crushing several witches and wizards at its feet - and reached up to desperately clutch at the gaping hole in its neck. Two heartbeats later, the giant fell to its knees, arms hanging limply, and crashed face-down to the earth.

There was a lull in the fighting as all who had witnessed the giant's death froze at the sheer impossibility. This granted the figure the chance it needed to leap at the second giant, gifting this one with a gaping wound in its neck to match its fallen comrade. Voldemort watched with seething anger as the figure seemed to flash from giant to giant, slashing their thick throats or gouging out their eyes. Screams of pain and dying rent the air, sending another, not-so-unwarranted, chill down his spine.

Voldemort could do little more than watch with incredulity and rage as his army was razed before his eyes, falling like flies in a bug zapper. It wasn't until he heard the Dementors approaching that he felt himself relax, Nagini loosening her tightened coils and tensed muscles. Little could escape the Dementors. Regardless of those of his forces they feasted on, so long as the demons consumed the figure's soul Voldemort would chalk them up as collateral damage.

The Dementors swarmed the figure - who now stood on ground-level amongst the viscera and corpses of his forces - like carrion, looking to pick apart and devour this powerful, new enemy. The swarm churned and writhed, appearing more like a storm of blackness that consumed even the light around it like a living, swirling blackhole. Voldemort grinned when the figure was obscured from his vision by the dark creatures, believing them to be in the middle of having their soul forcefully drained from their body.

That grin was reduced to gaping incredulity when another wave of black fire washed over the undead demons. The shrieks of Dementors was enough to drive fear into even the bravest of men. The _death cries_ of Dementors were enough to send the bravest into a state of mind-numbing, fear-induced _madness_. Voldemort was sure those ear-piercing, blood-curdling shrieks were those of the souls the demons had consumed, escaping from their bottomless, dark prisons. The fire, much like it had with his ground forces, consumed the Dementors, reducing the entire swarm to ash in a matter of moments.

It wasn't long before Voldemort watched as the last of his army fell to the figure's wand and knife. Blood-soaked ash stained the grass, forming a paste of filth and viscera. Amongst it all stood the figure, like a demonic entity of death and chaos, calm as can be. Voldemort felt a chill settle over him. He knew the figure was staring at him - those haunting green eyes were testament to that. A flash of white teeth told him the figure had grinned before they vanished with a crack, only to reappear less than a moment later a short distance from he and Nagini.

Voldemort's eyes widened when the moon's light chased the shadow from the figure, revealing their identity to him.

"Harry Potter," Voldemort hissed with unbridled rage at the sight of his hated enemy.

Harry grinned and waved cheekily.

"'Lo there, Thomas. How are you?"

Thin, bone-white fingers tightened around a wand of power, trembling with anger and hidden fear. A boy - a _boy _had managed to lay waste to his forces?! The mere thought was impossible to comprehend. The power it would take to accomplish what had been done this night…

"I see you have gotten stronger, Harry," the dark lord made a valiant attempt to conceal the fear he felt. Something told him the last Potter had seen it, anyway, judging by the cold smirk on his young face. "Good. You will need to be should you hope to have a chance of walking away this night - however infinitesimally small that chance may be."

Harry whistled lowly and grinned.

"Big word. You have to practice that?" Harry's grin dropped away, replaced by a coldness that chilled Voldemort to his bones. "It ends tonight, Tom. No more running. No more hiding. No more meddling, old fools. Just you, and me."

Voldemort nodded slowly. His shoulders moved the barest fraction of an inch, silently signaling Nagini to slip away and sneak around to attack the younger wizard from behind. Before she could so much as flinch, however, there was a flash of silver and Voldemort felt Nagini's body tense for a brief pause before she fell lifelessly to the ground. An unearthly scream rent the air and the dark lord felt pain in his chest at the death of his familiar and horcrux.

"You will pay for that, Potter!" Spittle flew from his mouth as he raged. A segmented wand - crafted from a branch of elder with imprinted notches - rose to fire a chain of the darkest curses in his repertoire of spells.

Harry forewent replying to the challenging words and raised his own wand in defense. Powerful, golden shields rose before him, humming and pulsing at the array of spells that splashed across its surface. He treasured this shield spell for not only its strength, but also for its ability to absorb the magic of an enemy's spells to increase its resilience; the _protego horribilis sanguisughe._**(2)**

On and on Voldemort cast every dark spell he could upon Harry's shields, too focused on causing the last Potter pain to simply end him swiftly with a Killing Curse. Harry waited until there was a break in Voldemort's onslaught before returning with one of his own. His ebony wand bucked with the sheer force of the spells that shot from its tip.

Voldemort could only grit his teeth as the younger wizard's spells impacted his own shield. He didn't know how, but the boy had grown more powerful than he thought. The power behind the spells Harry wielded were staggering in their ferocity. A spell chain of curses repeatedly slammed into his shield with the force of tank shell. The dark lord could feel his feet sliding across the grass by the force of Harry's spells pushing him back.

Like Harry, Voldemort focused his strength on maintaining his shield and readied himself for when the opportunity would present itself. Only problem was, Harry wasn't letting up. On and on spells rocketed forth from the younger's wand, slamming into the elder's shield with no sign of the former slowing down or tiring out. Voldemort felt a surge of panic and surmised he needed to put some distance between himself and Harry.

The Dark Lord raised his pale, spidery off-hand and conjured a ball of blue flames - one of the few wandless spells he was capable off - and pitched it like a curveball through his shield and at the ground at Harry's feet. The ball of flames exploded on contact, erupting in a shower of dirt and rock that granted Voldemort a brief reprieve. The Dark Lord twisted and disappeared with a sharp crack, reappearing several dozen yards away from Harry.

Taking advantage of his enemy's temporary blindness, Voldemort waved his wand, ripping up large mounds of earth and rock and began to transfigure them in a flurry of wand movement. Constructs started to take shape; earthen wolves and lions with jagged stones for teeth and claws, towering golems with boulders for fists and tree trunks for arms. Dozens of the amalgamated creations surged forth with a flick of Voldemort's wand, loping towards the cloud of dirt, that contained Harry, with murderous intent.

Voldemort grinned evilly and flicked a series of silencing spells on the transfigured creations, adding a measure of stealth to his attack on the younger man. Only for his grin to once again be wiped from his face when a violent gust of wind cleared away the cloud of dirt and dust around Harry, coincidentally dispatching a handful of the earthen, animated constructs.

"Interesting move, Tom," Harry's voice carried easily across the field that separated them. "A smoke screen to hide your escape followed by animated transfigurations. Yes, interesting indeed."

Voldemort watched as the young man placed his off-hand behind his back and flourished his wand as though it were a rapier. Harry's movements were fluid and demonstrated practice as he whipped his wand down and to the side, then back up to be parallel with his face. He grinned then; a feral, hungry display of teeth that made Voldemort feel as though he were staring at the Devil himself.

"Now, I believe, it is _my_ turn."

He wasn't far from the truth.

With the skill of a champion fencer, Harry began to strike out at the rest of the encroaching earthen animals and golems. His wand flashed to and fro, slashing and thrusting and appearing more like a rapier than its length would suggest. With each slash a stone golem would find itself bisected diagonally across its broad chest. Each thrust fired a combined Piercing Hex and Blasting Curse that saw the large pack of wolves and lions shrinking as their numbers were blasted apart.

When Harry started walking forward, Voldemort began casting and transfiguring as quickly as he could, his movements borderline frantic. More constructs and amalgamated creations took form, charging towards the approaching young man. The Dark Lord, however, was allowing his fear and desperation hinder his casting ability. His constructs were more frequently malformed or missing large chunks of their earthen bodies. A good number simply collapsed after taking only a few steps.

Harry continued his approach, unhindered by the anthropomorphic creations. No slash was wasted, each thrust aimed true. Dozens upon dozens of the beasts fell from his attacks. Voldemort saw this and abandoned transfiguring, deciding to switch back to casting spells and conjuring deadly projectiles to be banished towards the younger wizard. Harry couldn't help the feral smirk on his lips when he sensed the desperation in the Dark Lord's attacks. Spells were deflected or dispelled with no more than a flick of his wrist. Projectiles were banished or halted in their tracks with barely a thought.

Voldemort grit his teeth, sweat tracing the sides of his face and the top of his pale, hairless head. For all the rituals he'd performed to improve his newest body, for all the time spent and blood spilt to increase his spell knowledge, Voldemort found himself to be in a dire situation. The weak, pathetic, foolish boy he'd expected to face him had somehow become this demonic, vicious, merciless man. It had been so long since any opponent had filled him with such fear.

Never before had he had fear instilled into him by a man of no more than seventeen years of age.

His thoughts were painfully interrupted when one of the iron cannonballs he had conjured was forcefully returned, colliding with his left knee with a sickening crack. The impact snapped his leg cleanly, folding in the completely _wrong_ direction and sending waves of agonizing pain through his body. Voldemort screamed and collapsed on his back, head swimming from the indescribable pain. Darkness began to encroach on his vision, his brain attempting to shut down in order to deal with the severe shock such damage had done to his body. The bliss of painless oblivion was violently ripped from his grasp when a whip of black fire wrapped around his left thigh. A sharp tug from the other end of the whip saw the leg separated from his body and reduced to ash.

"Ah, ah, ah," Voldemort gasped with pain as Harry came to stand over him. The younger wagged his finger in mock chastisement. "Can't have you checking out just yet, Thomas. We've yet to finish our little game."

Voldemort watched, trembling in pain, as Harry crouched next to him. The young wizard's mouth turned upwards in a chilling smile, those Killing-Curse-green eyes glinting with murderous intent.

"No, we can't have that at all," Harry flicked his wand, conjuring a whip of black fire from its tip once more.

With practiced sweeps, he proceeded to separate the remainder of Voldemort's limbs from his body, reducing the extremities to ash while cauterizing the stumps. Voldemort could do little more than scream and whimper as his remaining leg and both arms were swiftly and excruciatingly painfully removed. Harry sighed, sounding almost happy.

"I'll be right back - promised someone I'd save a few of your Dark Tossers for her enjoyment. She'll have to settle for you. Don't go anywhere," Harry chuckled and disappeared with a crack of apparition. He returned a moment later, a woman with her hands on his offered arm by his side. "I know it's not the few I promised, but I hope the _who_ will make up for _how many_."

Voldemort watched as the woman slowly released Harry's arm and stalked towards his limbless self. She was nearly a foot shorter than Harry, with hair as dark as his, pulled back in a long braid. A pale, beautiful, heart-shaped face, ruby lips, and eyes the color of coal or nightmares. A long, snug evening dress helped to accentuate the clearly feminine curves of her body. Her face was expressionless, but the Dark Lord could see her black eyes glittering with interest.

"Is he…?" The woman trailed off; eyes still affixed on the Dark Lord.

"He is," Harry confirmed. Voldemort noticed how he watched the woman with a small smile of adoration and eyes full of love. The woman arched an eyebrow and glanced back at Harry over her shoulder.

"He's your kill," the woman sounded… more curious than confused. "Why would you give him to me?"

"He's just another man to me now, _mon amour_. I owe you a death and," Harry gave the surrounding area a pointed look. Wednesday followed his gaze and observed the piles of shattered stone, the pocked earth, the blood and ash and bodies. "I think I've had my share of death for the day."

Wednesday tilted her head in acknowledgment of that fact, then she seemed to glide across the ground to stand before Harry. She reached up and held his face in her dainty - but deadly - hands, her dark eyes searching his brighter green.

"This man murdered your parents. Slaughtered countless innocents unprovoked," she glanced back at the prone form of her love's mortal enemy. His eyes were glazed over and his breath came in short, quick gasps. From pain or exhaustion, she wasn't sure. Both, most likely. "He's a monster who ruined your life."

"He's a dog," Harry corrected softly, gently capturing Wednesday's chin with his fingers and turning her head back to him. "A rabid, savage mongrel who believed the world owed him for injustices he suffered as a child. Nothing more, nothing less," he glanced at Voldemort's limbless form. "His death would mean much more to _you_, at this point, _mon amour_."

Wednesday nodded in understanding but remained where she stood in front of Harry. Her blank stare softened to something more affectionate and compassionate that no-one, but Harry had seen before.

"And your family?" Wednesday questioned softly, her thumbs comforting as they gently brushed his cheekbones.

"They will always be my parents," Harry reached up to take her hands in his and lowered them to his lips. He placed a kiss on each of her knuckles and gazed deeply into her eyes. "But I have a _new_ family. One that accepts me. One that loves me. One that I love," he leaned down and placed a tender kiss on her full lips. They pulled apart and Harry touched her forehead with his. "While you and your family could never replace them, all of you are all that I need."

Wednesday loved when Harry got like this. The man she'd come to love over time was deadly and remorseless, a true nightmare to his enemies. Yet, with her, he acted much like her father did towards her mother. He loved her, cherished her. To him, Wednesday was his whole world. He killed with grace and loved her with all of his blackened heart.

Wednesday knew no-one else could ever measure up to the man who could hold her as if she were the most precious thing in the world one moment and end the lives of hundreds without pause the next. It left Wednesday shivering with desire and unabated loved.

The dark woman reached up and placed her hands behind Harry's neck, pulling him down into a kiss full of love and passion and promised _much_ more to come. She pulled away after a moment and used her thumbs to stroke the back of his neck, almost grinning when she felt him shiver.

"Okay," she whispered.

Wednesday released her hold on him, hands drifting down to grasp the long, silver knife sequestered in Harry's sleeve. She drew it, relishing in the sound of metal scraping against its leather sheath. The dark woman turned to glide across the grass to Voldemort's side and knelt beside him. The Dark Lord's glazed eyes tracked her movements lethargically, his breathing slowed and labored. Wednesday placed her hand upon Voldemort's chest and closed her eyes. She felt the _thump-thump, thump-thump _of his heart and smiled. It was a mirthless, dark smile that spoke of impending pain and death. Her eyes opened and black pits affixed themselves on the clouded, crimson gaze of the dying Dark Lord.

"You hurt the man I love," Wednesday's voice was quiet and conversational. "You made him bleed and suffer and _hurt_," anger bled into her words. "The only one allowed to do that to him is _me_," she hissed and leaned in close to Voldemort's ear, bringing the tip of the silver blade to rest upon the pale skin of his chest, over the spot where his heart lay. "When you get to Hell, tell them Wednesday Addams sent you."

Voldemort gasped as the twelve-inch-long blade of silver broke through his skin and pierced his heart. The blade sunk deeper and deeper into his chest, burying up to its hilt. The last thing the Dark Lord Voldemort, formerly known as Tom Marvolo Riddle, saw as his life slipped away, were the cold, black eyes of the Devil's Mistress herself.

**~Addams-Potter~**

Days later, after the death of Voldemort and the end of the Second Wizarding War, Wednesday found herself seated at the dining room table in the Addams' Manor, enjoying a delicious evening meal with her family and her fiancé. While she sipped her wine, Wednesday cast her gaze around the table.

Her father sat at the head, leaning in towards her mother and whispering - no doubt showering her mother with terms of endearment and sweet words.

Her Uncle Fester was seated on her father's right. He, along with his new wife, Aunt Dementia, and Grandmama, were talking with Cousin Itt and his wife, Cousin Margaret. Their five-year-old son, What, seated in Margaret's lap - the trio sat across from Fester and Dementia, next to her mother.

Thing was tapping along next to Lurch, the two conversing in their own unique ways; Thing's patterned, morse-code method of communication and Lurch's unintelligible moans and groans.

Pugsley and five-year-old Pubert sat across from Wednesday, the former chatting with the man who sat to her left at the other end of the table; her fiancé - her Harry. The green-eyed man was laughing along with Pugsley about something - she wasn't really listening.

Her thoughts were focused on other things. Specifically, her family as a whole and how there had been several new additions in the last seven years. Uncle Fester had come back from being lost in the Bermuda Triangle and Margaret had married Cousin Itt only a few months later. Two years later, Pubert was born and Cousin What shortly after. Aunt Debbie had made a brief appearance but had been dealt with swiftly - father still boasted about his youngest's first electrocution. Then Uncle Fester had met Itt and Margaret's nanny, Dementia. Six months later and she had welcomed a new aunt into the Addams Family.

And now, here they were, gathered to welcome the soon-to-be newest addition to the Addams clan; Harrison James Potter - Harry, to her. Wednesday found her gaze shifting to him and she thought back on how much the man had changed in the time she'd known him.

When she and her family had found him, Harry had been a weak, frightened boy with a massive amount of courage and no self-preservation instincts whatsoever. Father and mother had seen something in Harry's eyes the day they'd found him…

**~Flashback~**

"Mama, are you _sure_ it was _this_ street?" Morticia asked, shooting the cookie-cutter houses a distasteful look. Grandmama grumbled a bit, clearly in agreement with her daughter's view of the homes.

"Of course I'm sure, Morticia. I'd know the feeling of dark magic anywhere."

"Lead on then, grandmama," Gomez declared quietly, patting Morticia's hand on his arm comfortingly. "Worry not, _cara mia_. We will depart from this dreadfully horrid street soon enough."

Wednesday slid her bored gaze around the neighborhood with detached curiosity, slowly following behind her parents and grandmother. The houses on this street… _disturbed_ her. And not in a good way. Each unit was an exact replica of the one before it. Each had a small, perfectly manicured lawn, clean, freshly washed walkways, and flowers in abundance. The sight made her sick to her stomach. Summer had just begun here as well, so the smell of freshly mown grass assaulted her nose as if it were mustard gas.

"Look at this dump, Gomez," Fester wheezed, giving his surroundings a look of disgust. "Bright and boring and _cheerful_. _This_ is _Hell_."

"I find myself agreeing with you, Fester, old boy," Gomez's lip curled in a grimace, his finely trimmed mustache twitching. "This is truly a deplorable den of dismal decor."

"Mama, how will we know which house this magic came from?" The lack of response had them all stopping in their tracks and turning to where they last saw the old woman.

Grandmama had stopped at the end of the driveway of one of the small, identical houses. The old woman was giving the house a hard stare through narrowed eyes. The family moved to join her. Morticia placed a delicate hand on the old woman's shoulder.

"Grandmama?"

"This is the one," the old crone confirmed. Her narrow-eyed stare not wavering in the slightest. Grandmama nodded slowly and grinned. "Oh yes, this is the one, alright."

"Gomez," the man turned his head to Fester. The bald man pointed a thick, pale finger at the house. "The door is open."

"Indeed it is, old boy," Gomez confirmed. Wednesday peered at the red door with a large, brass number four and saw that it did, in fact, sit a few inches ajar. Gomez looked about, as if searching for something. "I don't see any ruffians, burglars, or murderers. Perhaps they are still inside?" Fester grinned and reached into his bulky, black coat.

"Maybe we should lend a hand, Gomez!" The bald man had retrieved a long, jagged knife from an inside pocket of his coat. Gomez returned the grin and retrieved his own blade from his suit jacket.

"Together, then?"

"Together," they agreed in unison.

The brothers turned and stalked towards the house. Morticia, Grandmama and Wednesday stayed behind. The Addams women appeared composed and stoic, but on the inside, each one was buried in their thoughts. Morticia's thoughts centered around their abhorrent surroundings as well as whatever dark magic lay beyond the door of this house marked number four.

Grandmama was feeling a little giddy and just a tad anxious. The dark magic she'd felt had been strong. Stronger than most of the dark magic the old crone had run into in her long life. She simply couldn't wait to meet whoever held such strength.

In contrast to the two older Frump women, Wednesday was rather indifferent to the entire affair. She simply stood beside her mother, arms crossed, and her expression set to that of disinterested boredom.

Several long, worry-filled moments passed before any movement was even seen within the house. Gomez had emerged from the darkened doorway with an oddly thoughtful look on his face. Morticia seemed to glide across the concrete driveway to her husband.

"_Mon cher_, what is it? What troubles you?"

Before Gomez could answer, however, the Addams women turned when they spotted Fester exiting the house. The hulking man was cradling something in his arms. It wasn't until the moonlight illuminated Fester, that Wednesday realized that some_thing_ was actually a some_one_.

That _someone_ was a boy, most likely about Wednesday's age. He had a mop of untidy, black hair that seemed to have a mind of its own. His body was as pale as hers, only he was much skinnier. What clothing he wore hung off his frame like a circus tent and were little more than rags. The most eye-catching features, however, were his glazed, emerald-green eyes and the fact he was covered in blood.

Morticia gasped and clutched at her husband's arm.

"Gomez?"

"We found him clutching a kitchen knife," Gomez's voice was low and calm. "The bodies of a very overweight man, an abnormally-thin woman and, I would hazard a guess, their obese son, lay around him in pools of blood. Their throats cut and their bodies full of stab-wounds."

"Reminds me of my fraternity initiation night!" Fester wheezed out a laugh.

Grandmama ignored them all and hobbled her way to the boy in Fester's arms. She hummed a moment as she poked and prodded him. The old crone then began waving her hand over the boy's head, closing her eyes and starting to chant in an odd language that Wednesday couldn't identify. This went on for a full minute until Grandmama stopped and nodded.

"This is it!" The old crone grinned a black, crazed smile. "He's the one!"

With Grandmama's proclamation, Wednesday and her family rushed back down the street to find Lurch and the car. Moments after, the car and the Addams were barreling down the road towards the summer home they owned in Brighton along the island's coast.

The rate at which Lurch was driving, it would be at least an hour before they arrived, so Wednesday took the time to really study the boy, who had either fallen asleep or passed out. He was gangly and thin. Though, she surmised his thinness wasn't due to how he was built. Judging by the gauntness of his cheeks and the pale pallor, Wednesday hazard that the boy was severely malnourished.

His clothes, little more than rags, were worn and ragged and he had an odd collection of scars. His left arm had a small, circular scar that looked as though he'd been stabbed at some point - likely within the last two years or so. The right arm had a long, thin, slightly jagged white scar that ran almost the entire length of his forearm - Wednesday doubted it was self-inflicted. The most curious of the scars, was the jagged, lightning bolt-shape on his forehead. It was an angry-red and appeared as though it hadn't healed properly. If she was honest, it looked as though it were fresh.

The youngest Addams woman pondered the boy. The malnourishment and severe scarring suggested he had been abused in some way, likely both emotional and physical. She surmised that abuse had led to him killing the people in that home - quite par for the course in situations such as this one. Wednesday had no doubt that he would be damaged in some way psychologically. He would likely be afraid of his own shadow, or jumpier than that cat Pubert had gotten a hold of a few months ago.

Wednesday was interrupted from her thoughts by the sound of tires screeching and brakes squealing. She looked around in surprise to find they had arrived at their summer home. The girl hadn't realize just how long she'd been pondering the boy, lost in her thoughts as she was. The family exited the car and quickly made their way inside the manor, the boy still cradled in Fester's arms.

"Quickly, brother," Gomez urged, leading his troop up the stairs. "We'll place him in the guest room. Grandmama, will you provide aid?"

"Hmph," the old hag harrumphed and shot Gomez a stern look. "Well, I'm certainly not going to just let the boy wither away."

Gomez said nothing, simply nodding his gratitude towards the old woman. The contingent of Addams came upon the guest room a moment later and allowed Fester to enter first. The large man was surprisingly gentle when he lay the boy down on the bed, taking care not to jostle him too much.

Grandmama shooed them away as she approached the bed and immediately began examining the boy. Her gnarled, wrinkled hands were constantly moving, waving to and fro over the boy's body whilst she mumbled a steady stream of words the rest of them could not hear. The old hag's words and gestures garnered no _physical_ reaction, but the Addams brood could feel a heaviness in the air that was wholly unnatural, even for a home owned by the Addams.

On and on Grandmama muttered and waved her hands, her dark, grey eyes blinking erratically and darting all around the boy's frame. Wednesday, by this point, was suitably interested in the situation, where before she had viewed it with apathetic boredom. The heavy thump of footsteps tromping softly into the room drew her attention away from the scene.

"What's going on?" Pugsley, her brother, asked, having just entered the room. Wednesday sighed and recounted the tale, her dark eyes trailing back to the boy of their own accord. When she had finished, Pugsley cocked his head to the side and studied the boy curiously. "Dark magic? That's new. Thought only Grandmama could do that."

"I did as well," Wednesday said monotonously. "She's rather excited to find another dark magic user. I've never seen her so interested in another person like this before."

"She doesn't seem to be the _only_ person interested," Pugsley commented slyly, smirking at his sister. Wednesday turned a cold glare on the Addams' heir.

"I wouldn't advise following that train of thought, brother-mine," Wednesday warned, venom lacing her words. She sniffed imperiously when her brother continued to smirk, clearly unafraid. "Besides… he's much too small and weak to garner _my_ attention. I'm only interested in the situation and his oddness. That's all."

"Riiight," Pugsley drawled disbelievingly. He shook his head at Wednesday's huff of annoyance and joined the rest of his family in their vigil over the unconscious boy.

Wednesday glared holes in the back of Pugsley's head and crossed her arms in annoyance. He was constantly doing that ever since their brief sojourn at Camp Chippewa and her even briefer acquaintanceship with Joel Glicker. Anytime she so much as glanced at a boy, Pugsley was right there to tease her. Wednesday would always sneer at the implications and proclaim herself as 'too good to stoop to such a level'. Despite having gone through that dreadful puberty and those annoying hormones, she deemed she didn't _need _anything to do with the opposite sex.

Least of all a weak, little boy.

**~Addams-Potter~**

Wednesday gave a rueful shake of her head. It was almost hard to believe how much her life had changed in the three years since she and her family had found Harry. Doubly so when she had started having feelings for the green-eyed man.

"_Mon amour_?" Wednesday was shaken from her musings by Harry's low, concerned voice. She turned to him to find him giving her a questioning look. "Everything okay?"

"Yes, _mon cher_," Wednesday replied with a small smile. She leaned over and kissed the corner of his mouth. "Everything is perfect."

The ringing of a glass had those at the table turning towards the sound. Gomez had stood and tapped his glass with his fork, garnering everyone's attention.

"I would like to make a toast," Gomez proclaimed. His dark eyes focused in on Harry and Wednesday. "For many generations, the Addams blood has thrived. Our history dates back centuries, to the times when the Romans first started to throw people to lions as entertainment. From Nero fiddling, to Waterloo, to Jack the Ripper, the Addams family has carried on and continues to grow," he smiled and raised his glass towards the betrothed couple. "And now, it grows once more. To Harrison Potter, the soon-to-be Addams, and to my daughter, Wednesday Addams. Soon to be Addams-Potter. May their life together be as full of love as their dark hearts and twisted minds can give. To Harry and Wednesday!"

"To Harry and Wednesday!" The rest of the Addams brood cheered, their glasses joining Gomez's.

Wednesday retained her stoic, bored expression, but inside she felt her black heart swell. She hadn't been lying when she'd answered Harry's question. Everything - her life, her family, her Harry - was perfect.

**~Addams-Potter~**

**This may just be my best work yet. (He claimed with incredible humbleness). It had just a little bit of everything; love, hate, happiness, silliness, horror, family, alliteration. A literary melting pot of categories. **

**I hope you enjoyed it!**

**Side Notes: (1) French for "I will see you soon, my love."**

**(2) Protego horribilis is an actual spell that loosely translates to 'I protect against the horrible' and is particularly suited for defending against dark magic. Protego horribilis sanguisughe is my non-canonical version. Sanguisughe is Latin for bloodsucker, like a leech. Now, while the translation is probably butchered and possibly incorrect, ideally it would translate to 'I protect against the horrible and absorb'.**

**Thank you, my beautiful readers!**


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